


The Companion

by callmenewbie



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mild Language, boys taking the pining too far, companion!Jaskier, it's maaagic, nonaging!Jaskier, winkwink, you'll see what that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmenewbie/pseuds/callmenewbie
Summary: “I’m sorry.” He barely could form the words through his clenched jaw, for some hidden (or just purposefully shoved away in the darkest pits of his brain) reason he didn’t want to let go of him now.He hasn’t seen the bard in decades, but as he looked at him now, it was like nothing changed at all. Yet.“Sure.” Jaskier nodded. “See you.”The witcher closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.“What do you want me to say?”“I don’t know. But a half-assed apology is definitely not it.”OrGeralt hasn't seen Jaskier in decades and when he does he doesn't know what's off, until Jaskier tells him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 555





	The Companion

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on this for a week or so and then I started to work on something else, but NOW I finally finished it. So this is my personal headcanon for why Jaskier hasn't aged a day. Also I used Roach for my theory, because I don't want Geralt to lose any horses or bards over the years. I'm a softie.  
> As normally it got longer than I planned, but that's life.  
> Rating is just to be safe.  
> I sincerely hope you'll like it! :)

It was an unusually dark night in the woods of a small forest by the Pontar. The Moon was a thin slice of sickle and even that scarce light was cut off by the trees, although Geralt did not have a problem with his sight in the dark, he kept alert, as he was very well aware that these conditions were the best for many monsters and monstrous humans alike.

It’s not exaggeration to say that he was exhausted, even his senses didn’t feel that sharp, his whole body felt unusually heavy and his eyes were burning. He would not admit it out loud to anyone, but just for himself; he’d been roughed up quite well. The cut on his side was deep, but it stopped oozing blood about an hour ago and probably will be healed in about two days. He had some business on the other side of the forest, in Caeli, where some alghouls started to feed on the locals. It was a nasty and tiring couple of days, but they gave good coin and the only thought that kept him upright was the warm inn room and an even warmer bath, when he got back. Vallweir, the town he was headed was on the other side of the forest, which meant a couple of hours distance – that is without his horse; walking.

He didn’t have any equipment to set up camp, so it was either keep marching on, or sitting down at a tree trunk and meditate, until he can move on. He was about to do just that, because however he wanted to deny it, his body was losing the strength to go on; he was injured and didn’t have any opportunity for sleep or even meditation in the last four days. And seeing as there was no one to hide his state from, it would be really foolish to keep up with the walking without at least a quick rest.

_Even witchers need some rest, Geralt, you can’t go on forever like this._

So he sat down, trying to quiet his mind, but it seemed slightly harder than usual. He was aware of the little cracks and noises by his feet and the wind ripping into the tree crowns and for a while he didn’t hear anything else, until there were footsteps; one person and a horse, a bit more distantly a couple of more people. There was some sort of whispering, but it must have been still far away enough, as he didn’t understand the words.

He slowly got up and walked towards the noise, peering through the branches to see a hooded silhouette murmuring to his horse as he encouraged the animal to move along. Just when he thought about what sort of idiot would walk around in the dark woods alone, the other sounds neared in. Talking, steel sliding out of its sheath, menacing laughter. Suddenly there were five men around the stranger, grabbing his saddlebags and showing off their swords.

“For fuck’s sake.”

He didn’t want to get involved, he never did.

_Except you actually do, all of the time._

He walked towards the men, with quickening steps, jaw clenched in pain, while in his head still cursing himself for not just walking away.

Normally he wouldn’t want to kill them, but it didn't seem like the men would share his views, he was also tired, injured and definitely not in a good mood. He just went in sword first.

When he neared in, he immediately cut through two of the men, appearing behind them and using the element of surprise, then walked over to the stranger who was trying to fight off the other three – not very successfully. He cut one of their throats from behind and with two simple moves slammed his sword into the other two’s bowels and chest.

He was breathing raggedly and heavily, it felt like however deep breaths he took, they only filled half of his lungs. Every movement was excruciating pain, even his vision started to seem dulled somehow.

_You always have to play the hero, don’t you? And you call me reckless._

“What are doing here alone? How fucking stupid are you?” he growled at the hooded person, who instead of an answer, threw a dagger towards him.

He ducked just in time and the weapon hit the man behind him, right in the forehead – the sixth man who was apparently hiding in the woods.

“Fuck.” He should have sensed him. He should have fucking known that there were more of them.

_Shouldn’t you have a sixth sense or something?_

The bard’s voice was ringing in his head yet again. If he could just silence it... but as he wasn’t able to do that in the last few decades, he couldn’t do it now. And however pathetic that was, it was the only thing that left after Jaskier and even if it made Geralt insane, he wanted to hang onto it.

The person took his hood off and oh. So the voice _did not_ come from his head this time. Geralt opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t say a word, he just stood there and looked at the man, who he hasn’t seen in at least twenty years, or maybe thirty, gods know he stopped counting.

For a while he thought that the only possible reason why he never crossed paths with the bard for so long is that he finally fucked the wrong noble’s wife and got executed. But then throughout his travels he heard new songs making their rounds around the taverns, written by the famous Jaskier himself. So he simply managed to avoid Geralt for decades out of principle.

“Jaskier?”

“Hm?” He chirped up. It was a very casual sound, way more causal than the situation required in the witcher’s opinion.

Jaskier walked over to the dead bandit, who’s head still held his dagger and yanked the weapon out of it. The tiniest bit of blood sprayed out of the bandit’s scull, a few drops scattering Jaskier’s face; he wiped them off with the back of his hand so naturally, like this was not the first or even the second time he would remove a weapon from someone he’d just killed. But Geralt remembered how he looked when they were in danger, be it monsters or humans, he was nothing short of hiding behind Geralt if he had to.

This Jaskier seemed like and echo of the person Geralt knew.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He said finally, as he watched the bard securing his dagger back onto his waistband.

Geralt did not miss the fact, that it was indeed the very same silver dagger he’d gifted the bard many years ago.

_If you insist on getting in trouble all the time, might as well have a weapon on you._

“Oh. I’m on my way to Gors Velen. Well, first Vallweir, then Gors Velen, but-“

“Jaskier. It’s dangerous out here alone, especially at night time.”

The bard’s expression darkened suddenly at that.

“Well, it’s not like that’s your problem anymore.” He secured his bags on his horse, then stopped in midmotion. His voice was as casual as ever, yet what he said had a weight that Geralt wasn’t sure he was ready to hold.

He grabbed his horse’s bridle and started to walk down the narrow path, continuing his way towards – apparently – Vallweir.

He watched Jaskier go and he felt that something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, his senses didn’t work quite as well as they should have and this impromptu meeting with the bard thrown him all the way off. And even though he wouldn’t call this encounter a true sword fight, it did take its toll on Geralt; his own weight seemed to be too much for his legs, making him slightly sway. Not to mention that his wound has ripped open during the fight and now he could smell the scent of his own blood mixing with the bandit’s in the air.

The edge of the forest wasn’t too far now, he only had to make it for a little while and then he could have his rest in the inn. An hour or so, that was all.

Jaskier stopped a few feet in front of him and without turning around barked back at him.

“Are you coming or what?”

Geralt wanted many things at this moment. First of all, he wanted to tell the bard to go fuck himself, because he had no right coming around, appearing from nowhere, making him save his life again after all these years, just to actually let the bard save his own life instead, he also wanted to stomp off, but what he really wanted to do more than anything in this moment was to _sleep_.

His feet didn’t move, actually his whole body felt numb, reminding him of just how long ago he’d rested last, which normally wouldn’t be that big a problem, but he did drink more of his potions in the last few days, than he could’ve handled in his current state.

“Oh for the love of Mel-“ Jaskier’s voice cut off in Geralt’s ear, so did everything else.

There was nothing but darkness and blessed silence.

*

When Geralt woke up, he was in a bed, not a very comfortable one, but much more preferable, than the frozen ground on the edge of the woods where his last “camp“ has been set up. His body was still sore, but his mind and his senses felt much clearer. He looked out the window, it was dark and grey outside, despite being before noon. Or Geralt supposed it wasn’t later than noon, although gods know how long he'd slept.

He could smell the familiar scent of the oils Jaskier used to use to clean his wounds and the characteristic smell of his salve, neatly dulled by the bandages on Geralt’s side.

Suddenly the scent sent him back to late night camps and courtly baths.

He stayed there, laying down for a couple of minutes, contemplating whatever he will do next. But that mainly depended on one thing really; was Jaskier still around or did he just drop him off and left? The other bed in the room was empty, but there was an achingly familiar lute case leaned against the wall just by the door.

Still here, but ready to go then.

As he turned his head, he saw a small wooden table with two chairs, and on one of them sat Jaskier, cradling a mug of ale, staring in front of himself ever so intently. Even from there, he could smell the rain in the bard’s hair, mixed with the lingering flowery fragrance that always surrounded him.

Geralt scrambled out of bed with not much dignity, slowly making his way over to the table and stopped by the side of it. Jaskier didn’t look up, just took a sip of his ale and stubbornly glared at the window, if not out of it.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt said, because apparently he was an idiot. The bard looked up and his eyes were almost hypnotic blue, clear like a little brook in the mountain. If there was a light smile on his face, it disappeared before Geralt could catch it.

“I’m here to drink alone.”

Whatever his face showed, the fact that he played along was enough for Geralt to sit down opposite him, all the while ignoring the warmth in his chest that Jaskier caused just by saying his words back to him, words that he said in such a long time ago, that it almost seemed like eternity. He had to realise that he’d known the bard far longer, than possibly anyone in his life. Well anyone but Roach, but she was special in a way.

“Are you?”

“If I were, you’d still be in the forest.” He said with a rather passive tone.

Geralt was not exactly one for eye contact, but he was desperate to catch Jaskier’s gaze, with depressingly little success.

“So.” Jaskier started with a just too-sweet smile on his face. “Geralt, haven’t seen you since you blamed me for everything that went wrong in your life and chased me away. What was it, twenty, twenty-five years? How did you fare?”

“Jaskier.”

“No, no. Tell me.”

The witcher slowly exhaled through his nose, before answering.

“It _was_ your fault. Mostly.” He said and immediately regretted it. He didn’t know why would he even say this; he thought about this many times since and well, he was angry and he knew that he blamed the bard for things that might not have been entirely his fault.

Jaskier stood up so suddenly, his mug rattled a bit as his thighs hit the underside of the table.

“Oh- OH, excuse me, did _I_ call the Law of Surprise – after seeing what a mess it can make by the way, really Geralt –, did _I_ go and bound myself to a crazy witch who tried to get me executed with some weird scheme? No. No, that was all you.”

His chest heaved with the quickening of his breathing, he was positively angry and something twisted in Geralt’s own chest, something he hasn’t felt in decades.

“I ended up in those situations because of you.” He said, but it was like a thin straw keeping him from falling into a bottomless pit. Weak and ready to give up.

“You made your choices Geralt, you can’t pin them on me. You might not like them and you might want to be angry with someone, but I’m not going to carry this on my back.” His tone was pinched with sadness and resignation. “It was good seeing you, Geralt.” He said with a now neutral tone.

Geralt grabbed his wrist, before he could fully turn around.

“I’m sorry.” He barely could form the words through his clenched jaw, for some hidden (or just purposefully shoved away in the darkest pits of his brain) reason he didn’t want to let go of him now.

He hasn’t seen the bard in decades, but as he looked at him now, it was like nothing changed at all. Yet.

“Sure.” Jaskier nodded. “See you.”

The witcher closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. But a half-assed apology is definitely not it.”

He looked angry, offended and maybe hurt.

“See you around, Geralt.” He said and tried to free his wrist from Geralt’s grip.

He positively felt like a horse just kicked him in the chest. When the last time the bard uttered these exact words, Geralt lost him for years, out of his own stupidity and anger. Destiny has shown him before that however much he didn’t want it to exist, he couldn’t avoid it. But it wasn’t always horrible, this time he might had a chance to fix things, although he hasn’t got a fucking clue _how_ exactly could he do that.

“Wait.”

“For _what_?” The bard snapped sharply, his voice cracking with desperation, his chest rising rapidly with each breath.

He seemed so cold, it just didn’t feel like the same Jaskier he used to travel with, yet he was a hundred percent sure, that it was him; the scent, the look, the choice of clothing. Maybe it’s a curse, although he did not detect anything, but maybe his senses were still not sharp enough.

Or maybe he did actually cause unfixable damage years ago, on that gods forsaken mountain.

“Let’s just. Talk.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot how big you are on talking.” He said mockingly.

“Jaskier.” Maybe for the untrained eyes it would seem like he was pleading, but he was absolutely not.

Geralt was still holding Jaskier’s wrist and with a gentle force he tugged him back towards the table and the bard dropped back down to his chair, grumpily.

“Fine.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Geralt could still feel the warmth of Jaskier’s skin linger in his palm.

“You saved my life.” Geralt said finally, in a hushed tone, like he was scared that if he’d talk louder that might spook the bard.

“Hm-mm.” Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest and nodded enthusiastically. “It was time I pay you back, don’t you think?”

“Hm.”

“I mean not literally of course, since you saved my life many more times.” He said in thought, then added with a cocky smile: “Also I used your coins for the room.”

There was the smallest quirk in the corner of his mouth; for some reason it always amused Geralt, when Jaskier was cheeky. But it went as quickly as it came.

“You’ve killed a man.” He said darkly.

“Yes.” The bard leaned back on his chair, like an offended child who didn’t want to be told off, but wouldn’t get up and leave out of sheer stubbornness.

“Jaskier.”

“What? _What_ Geralt? I have killed before, don’t think it’s so special just because I had to do it for you!” Geralt furrowed his brows and hoped he looked just as unamused as he actually felt. “Sure I haven’t enjoyed it, but I suppose dying would be much less fun.” He added tentatively.

“Jaskier.”

“Look, I did what I had to do. It’s not that big a deal, rather them than us anyway.”

This side of him was something that Geralt hasn’t seen much before, either he didn’t want to show it to him or he wasn’t paying enough attention.

He didn’t know what to say, so he kept silent.

Jaskier started drumming on the tabletop with his fingers; he was never really good at silences, after a minute or two he couldn’t take it anymore.

“How’s Ciri?”

“She’s with Yennefer.” He answered curtly.

But then. Hold on a minute.

“Wait, how do you know about her?”

“Er, well, me and Yennefer are-“ He made a weird circling motion with his hand.

Geralt’s brows furrowed even deeper, as he was trying to swallow the uncomfortable and bitter feeling in his throat.

“Friends of sorts.” He settled for that and the feeling seemed to lighten a little. “I actually met Ciri a couple of times. She’s quite a girl – or woman I should say.” He smiled and added softly: “You’re doing a great job with her, both of you.”

A short silence sat down on them again, but this time it was Geralt’s turn to break it.

“Yen didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah, well, I asked her not to.”

“Hm.”

Suddenly there was a thought occurring to him; if he was able to avoid him for so long, even though apparently they still shared people in their lives; why didn’t he leave him behind in the woods?

“You patched me up.” For that Jaskier started squirming uncomfortably.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you and it would have been rather annoying if you’d died of an infected wound before. And really Geralt, walking around with that, without even cleaning it?” He sighed dramatically. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now, but I was so used to avoiding you, it became really hard to track you down, it took me years.”

“You were trying to find me?” He tried, but couldn’t manage to fully disguise the surprise in his voice.

“Until now.” The bard’s voice was so soft, Geralt had to close his eyes, just for a second.

“Okay, listen. I’m not less mad at you, than before,” he started. “But there really is something that you should know about.”

It couldn’t be anything good, the witcher thought. No one has ever said that if they had good news.

“Tell me, Jaskier. Are you in trouble? Who wants to kill you this time?”

The bard’s sheepish smile made his face look exactly like in the old times and Geralt’s heartbeat fastened – it still wasn’t like a regular human’s, but much faster, than its normal rhythm.

Then it faded in a quick moment, the feeling of something not being right came back to him instead, but this time it felt like he was just a step away from the answer. It was blurry, but it was there.

The bard shook his head.

“It’s nothing like that.” Jaskier was looking intently into his mug and he could scent the nervousness that oozed from his pores.

“Come on Jaskier. Out with it.” He wouldn’t admit it for anything, but he was getting nervous himself. The fact that he and Yennefer were _friends_ and that he was dragging this whole thing out was a very, _very_ bad sign.

When he looked up and their gaze met, suddenly it was the old bard that Geralt knew so well, looking back at him. Or he thought he knew him well anyways. But it was putting him on edge, seeing Jaskier in and out of his familiar form.

“Okay. So. I don’t know if you noticed, that, uh, that how _dashing_ I look.”

“Hm.” He didn’t quite see where he was going with this and his noncommittal answer only made the bard sigh.

“Do you know how old I am, Geralt?” He asked softly.

Geralt in fact did not know.

Well he looked young, he had no wrinkles – except for the little crowfeet by his eyes – or a single white hair on his head. Geralt wasn’t sure how old he actually was, as he never bothered asking; all the information about the bard was mostly given unprompted and freely anyways.

Well just to think of the time they’ve spent together on the road and the time they’ve spent apart, he must be around sixty or seventy at this point...

Their gaze met and understanding clashed with confusion.

“I am a companion.” Jaskier said with an awkward smile that did not reach his eyes and disappeared as quickly as it came, turning into an anxious worrying of his bottom lip.

“I don’t understand.”

Of course Geralt knew what a companion was when it came to animals; that’s how he’s got Roach in the first place. When a witcher left Kaer Morhen for the first time, they had to find an animal, that was willing to go with them on its own account and then it became the witcher’s companion, which meant that the animal aged together with its witcher and when the witcher died, it died too. It was a magical bond that was so ancient, that it couldn’t be undone without killing one of the participants.

But as far as he’d known Jaskier wasn't a horse.

“Well, you see, I’ve noticed that I didn’t really age much and asked Yennefer about it, because I thought, well, that maybe I’ve been cursed.”

Geralt stared at him blankly, still trying to process what he just heard, so he listened as the bard continued.

“And believe me she was _very_ intrigued. After a lot of testing and potions and all…” Jaskier visibly shivered for the thought of the witch’s tests. “She told me, that this is what I am.”

“A companion?” It felt weird even just to say it out loud.

“Yes.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to say, this wasn’t something he’d ever heard of and _he’d been around_.

“So why did you want to tell me this?”

“Because, because-” Jaskier’s voice was creeping higher with every vowel. “I am _your_ companion and I thought – even though I know you don’t want me around – you should know about it.”

He hasn’t seen the bard in decades (even though he did hear his voice in his head more often than he was comfortable admitting; it wasn’t like he could just tell him that he was keep hearing his voice in his mind as a newly grown consciousness) and this is what he has to deal with for the first time, really? What should he even do now?

Jaskier was waiting for him to finally say something, slowly biting his bottom lip bloody.

“How is this even possible?”

“I’m not sure… Yennefer said she never heard of anything like this before.”

“Since when…”

“Well, she said that probably the first time I declared myself to be your companion, you know in the _regular_ sense, I awakened the magical bond and now… here we are.”

Geralt actually remembered the first time Jaskier had called himself his companion. It was a couple of years after Posada. They’ve set up camp a day walking from the next town. They were sitting by a fire, it was a particularly cold night and Jaskier’s entire set of belongings consisted of his lute, notebooks, quills and a thin bedroll. He was shaking, despite the fact that if he would have sat any closer to the fire his ridiculous blue doublet would catch on fire.

Geralt sighed as he laid down on his own bedroll.

“You know maybe we should huddle up for tonight, don’t you think? So we wouldn’t freeze to death overnight.” His voice was way too cheery, but the chattering sound that his teeth made crudely betrayed him.

“I’m not cold.” Gerald had told him.

“Well I am, and maybe you could survive to do this little favour to a friend, especially when there is no one around to witness it anyways.” He pouted and leaned half an inch closer to the fire, enjoying the warmth that painted his face into a harsh orange.

“We’re not friends.” That was all Geralt said and then turned around, hoping that Jaskier would take a hint and finally go to sleep.

“Well then.” His teeth stopped chattering and his tone turned into something that reminded Geralt of the thin layers of ice that appear in the sides of small brooks near mountain tops. “I suppose I can settle for companion.” He said softly and a weakly. “But you can’t take that away from me.”

He heard Jaskier shuffle as he laid down, near the fire and started shaking again.

“For fuck’s sake.” He growled and nearly ripped himself out of his bedroll as he walked over to the bard, positioned himself behind him and draped one arm over his side and pulled his only fur over them. If it covered more of the bard, than himself that was only a coincidence.

“If you say one more word tonight, I’ll run you through with my sword.”

Jaskier only snuggled even closer to the witcher, but said nothing, although Geralt could almost _feel_ his smile.

The bard managed to be the only human, who wasn’t just fearless around Geralt from the very first moment, but seemed to feel safe because of the witcher.

Geralt blinked slowly, trying to send the memory back where it came from – to a part of his brain, where he tried not to look, out of guilt.

Jaskier scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“So if I die, you die.” The witcher said heavily.

Even the thought made Geralt’s stomach jump into a knot.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry, if I die, that won’t affect you,” the bard said probably mistaking the expression on his face.

“That isn’t my worry at all.” He shook his head slowly.

“Oh.”

“Jaskier, I live a dangerous life, you know that. I might just cut your life span into half, by not being fast enough in a fight.”

Jaskier chuckled softly, much to Geralt’s surprise.

“Well I don’t know, how long do you think humans live for, but I’m well past the half of it.”

Geralt didn’t say anything to that, and it made Jaskier sigh.

“You really don’t understand, do you? I’m already seventy and I wouldn’t care anyway, because there is a possibility that you won’t die for a very _very_ long time.”

“Jaskier, don’t be stupid, I know a long life is tempting, but this isn’t a joke.”

“I know.” He looked at Geralt seriously. “I’m telling you that’s not it! I went with you when I was barely older than a boy, could’ve died anytime, yet I still went! And after twenty years, I still did, I gave all those times for you, because it was worth risking my life, to be by your side.” He suddenly averted his gaze and added softly: “Even if you sent me away after all.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt barley breathed his name. “You can’t be bound to me.”

Not again, not one more. More and more people seemed to be bound to him through magic and he couldn’t bear this anymore. To be responsible for them... he was a witcher for gods’ sake, made to kill monsters, not to take care of people! First Ciri, then Yennefer, now Jaskier. The worst part of all of this was, that he selfishly wished, that it wouldn’t just be magic, but that Jaskier really would want to live a life like this, with him… But after everything they’ve been through, that seemed unlikely.

“Geralt, it’s not-“

The witcher raised a hand to silence him.

“You don’t understand.” He growled.

Suddenly they were standing, not remembering when that even happened, but they were so close now, that Jaskier’s scent was overwhelming; elderflower and rose like always, mixed with the rain sitting in his hair. Their chests were nearly touching and the bard’s eyes looked like lightning in the grey little room.

Jaskier opened his arms in a wide spread.

“Oh, oh, okay, so what is that I don’t seem to grasp, tell me, because I’m _so_ dumb, enlighten me oh great Geralt of Rivi-“

Words didn’t seem to aid Geralt anymore so he did what he’d thought was the next best thing; grabbed him by the collars and kissed him. He couldn’t help it, for once, only once he had to kiss him, even though it was magic, or Destiny, or whatever really. It was barely a kiss, just a strong touch of lips, just to make the bard understand.

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the bard’s for a few seconds before pulling back.

“This.”

“Oh, so this is- THIS, you mean, I…. I need to sit down.” He so much as collapsed onto his chair, before started rambling.

“So how long- what is- I mean – deep breath Jaskier – what do you want from me then?”

“I don’t know. This is only magic, you only want to be around me, because of the bond and I cannot do this to you, I cannot be responsible for your life.”

And as if the opposite of what he had said in the forest just a few hours ago, Jaskier looked at him seriously. “But you are responsible. You always have. Besides, I really don’t know how to hammer this into you thick head, but I wanted to come along even before the bond and it didn’t change since. We travelled together for over twenty years Geralt. Do you think, if I wouldn’t want to go with you, wouldn’t I have left anytime you tried to send me away?”

He smelled like desperation and loneliness. And Geralt knew it was entirely his fault, _damn it_.

“But you did leave eventually.” He answered hoarsely, his hands were merely hanging by his side, starting to feel numb and powerless.

There was a sad smile on the bard’s face as he slowly shook his head.

“Because as much as you don’t believe me now, that I wanted to stay, I didn’t believe that you wanted to send me away. Until then, that is.”

The pain in his chest made Geralt feel like there was something black oozing out of him, covering everything around him and he never ever wanted to feel this way again.

“Forgive me.” He whispered and didn’t feel like he deserved it, nor that he will get it. The man avoided him for twenty years for all the gods’ sake.

“I won’t.” It hurt, even if he thought that he had all the right to- “Not yet. Listen to me, you big old brute. I want to go with you, I want to spend my life singing about your adventures and for that I have to be there. The choice is yours. If you don’t want me, I’ll get out of your hair forever, magical bond or not. So I ask you again; what do you really want from me?”

_You feel it just the same as me, that hole inside you. That itch that can't be scratched that burns your brain, keeps you awake at night._

This was it. His last chance, he knew, regardless of the bond, magic or Destiny, Jaskier will disappear forever and this time he won’t see him again, because the bard made one thing quite clear: he has the ability to defy all odds, including anyone or anything on the whole bloody Continent, be it magic or Destiny. He was stronger than anyone Geralt has ever met, despite being only human, he was more powerful than others, because he had such a freewill, that couldn’t be caged by something as plain as ancient witcher magic.

As much as it unnerved him, the thought made him smile. Bond or no, Jaskier always did what he wanted to do.

Geralt kneeled down in front of him, on the dusty, rickety wooden floors.

“You. And everything you’re willing to give me. If it’s only your friendship, I’m content with that.”

The bard gave out an indignant noise.

“Friendship, FRIENDSHIP? You can’t be serious, calling me a friend for the first time, after you finally, _finally_ kissed me!” The fact that he was smiling widely, did loosen the outrageous effect he was probably going for.

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s face in his palms and with his calloused thumbs he drew tiny circles on his cheeks.

“I am yours.” He whispered and as he leaned down to kiss him; they met halfway.

_What you’re missing is still out there._

This kiss was different, it was hungrier, more desperate, filled with lust. Jaskier tasted like blood and cheap ale and it made Geralt dizzy, he buried his fingers into the bard’s soft, damp hair and slowly stood up from the floor, without breaking the kiss, pulling Jaskier up with him.

Eventually he broke away, just so he could scoop up Jaskier from the chair and carry him over to his bed, accompanied with his sweet laughter, that stopped as the air got knocked out from him, as the witcher dropped him onto the mattress.

He was obviously ready to make his complaints about the indelicate treatment, but Geralt crawled on top of him and kissed him again before he could utter a single word.

Jaskier was holding him so close, like he wanted to become one with the witcher, he dropped his arms over Geralt’s neck, digging his nails into his shoulder blades through his shirt, his legs where tightly wrapped around his waist, which was slowly driving Geralt crazy. He used his full weight to push him into the bed and only broke the kiss to grunt with pleasure, when he felt the friction that Jaskier’s lap has provided.

_Your Destiny._

He pulled away only to admire the look on the bard’s face, his pupils blown wide, his red, swollen lips and his absolutely messy hair. Geralt has lived a long life already, but hasn’t remembered being so aroused ever. Just by looking at Jaskier everything else seemed dull and mundane; the monsters, the woods, the towns, noble folks; anything he’d come by so far. Nothing could ever come close to feeling and seeing Jaskier clinging to him, with such a clear statement of lust written all over his face.

_I know it. And you know it._

And he knew it, yet he missed out on it for so long. He lashed out in pain and anger, denied what he felt for decades and he almost lost him forever. He had many things to atone for.

He buried his face in Jaskier’s neck and took a deep breath, inhaling the bard’s unique scent.

“Are you going to fuck me, or am I too pretty?” He asked breathily and it made Geralt smile into his skin.

“Both.” He murmured into his neck, before starting to work on conjuring unearthly sounds out of the bard, turning his chuckles into moans.

*

They were lying on the bed, watching the room slowly turning even darker with a new storm brewing outside, the wind loudly rapping on the window.

“I lied. Before.”

Jaskier whispered into the space between them. Geralt suddenly felt like the bed had been pulled out from under him. Whatever he’d meant, it made him feel uneasy.

He growled signalling the bard to continue.

“About the men, and the killing; I do care. I did kill before, when I had to, but every time… I hate it. I hate it so much.”

Geralt felt relieved when he realised what Jaskier was talking about; he ran his hand over the bard’s shoulder and upper arm a few times, soothingly.

“I just didn’t want you to think that I was weak.” The bard added after a beat of silence.

“I didn’t.” Geralt said simply.

“Oh. That’s… that’s good then.” He settled back against him comfortably, shuffling under the fur they shared.

“It’s not easy getting used to it.” He admitted. There was a reason why he wanted to avoid shedding someone else’s blood, unless it directly threatened his own life; or someone’s he tried to protect.

“Is there even a way to get used to it?” He whispered, absentmindedly staring at Geralt’s lips.

“Yes. But I rather you don’t.” He answered honestly and to that Jaskier didn’t say anything.

After this, they both drifted off, letting the sound of the storm rumble over them.

*

In the morning Geralt woke up to Jaskier’s voice, as he was singing lowly and plucking the strings of his lute; this was something that he missed more, than he could’ve ever thought.

Geralt hummed with satisfaction and slowly opened his eyes. When he turned his head to look at the bard, there was a gentle smile tugging at Jaskier’s mouth.

“Good morning.” He said softly and put his lute down by his legs.

“Morning.” He sat up, taking in the view. He hasn’t got a chance to see the bard for decades and it was only hours ago, that he got him back. It was a sensation that made him almost giddy.

Jaskier got up and walked over to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

“May I say you look especially chipper today.”

“Hm.”

“Did my song cheer you up?” Jaskier asked slyly and Geralt was definitely not going to answer that question.

They’ve sat there in comfortable silence for a short time, then Geralt turned to look the bard in the eyes.

“Come with me.”

“With y- where? I mean- I already thought. What?” Jaskier gaped at him, confusion written all over his face.

“To Kaer Morhen. For the winter. Maybe we can find out more about the bond there.”

The bard seemed deep in thought and sunk into an uncharacteristic silence. Geralt let him. If he didn’t want to go, he could understand, although he’d expected him to be a touch more enthusiastic about it.

Finally he spoke softly.

“Do you want it to be severed?”

For a second Geralt was startled, but he just looked at him and said what he really thought, because he was too tired for the hide and seek they’ve played for all these years.

“Yes. And no. It’s dangerous for you, you can die anytime because of me, even if we’re not together and you are looking for enough trouble on your own.”

There was a hint of a smile on Jaskier’s lips for that.

“But the thought that I would be able to spend my life knowing that you are there, not losing you to old age…” He trailed off more quietly.

“Well, I can assure you that doesn’t mean I cannot get killed, if left to my own devices.” Jaskier smiled fully now and that made Geralt’s lips quirk up just a little bit.

“It is settled then.” The bard clapped his hands in determination.

“What is?”

“I’ll go with you, to Kaer Morhen. And wherever your Path takes us after. We might part ways time to time but Destiny will guide us back to each other as it always did.”

Geralt thought about this for a few seconds and found that he believed the bard unconditionally.

Suddenly his smile turned playful.

“So it is true, what the songs say; the great Geralt of Rivia isn’t a lone wolf anymore.”

“What songs?” Geralt furrowed his brows.

“The ones that I haven’t sung yet – not in public anyways. Not like I would let any other bard write about you. That’s my burden and I shall carry it as long as I live!” He said dramatically, but there was a serious glint in his eyes that made Geralt pull him in for a soft kiss.

Geralt made many mistakes in his life and letting the bard go was one of the biggest, something that he will not allow to happen again. He knew that it won’t be easy to gain the bard’s forgiveness, but he hoped that by taking small steps, he’ll get there. After all, they had all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> If you reached the end, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!  
> As you all know kudos and comments are love and power.  
> All of you stay well and wash your hands!


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